


Don't Forget About Me

by agentofvalue



Series: Don't Miss a Moment [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentofvalue/pseuds/agentofvalue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Peggy is exposed to something on the job, Steve must face the fact he may have lost her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Someone dropped heavily into the chair by Peggy's desk. Her attention jerked away from her paperwork. She wasn't surprised to see it was Sousa sitting in front of her. She pushed back from the uncomfortable position she was been hunched in and rubbed her knuckles in the small of her back. 

It was late for even her. The lights were dimmed in the bullpen. Through rain-wet panes, the windows showed only the glow of street lamps outside. The drops drummed against the glass. The agents all worked strange hours, so she knew she wasn't the last in the hidden office above the telephone company. There was a mountain of paperwork to get ahead of before the weekend. She hadn't had a day off in weeks and she was sure as hell going to make sure tomorrow stayed free. 

"Ma'am," he said. 

"Agent." She fought back a smile. It was still strange to be addressed as a superior by Daniel, who had been at her side for all these years. "You really don't have to call me that. Rank doesn't apply when the sun has been down for this long." 

"The sun is threatening to come up again." 

She checked her watch. "Oh damn." 

She wasn't surprised he was right even if was an exaggeration. It was just passed midnight. She immediately started shuffling the papers, preparing to leave. 

"I figured as much," he said, leaning back casually in the chair. 

"What did you figure?" she asked, not paying him much attention. 

"That you had no idea what time it was." 

"Well, it has been extremely—"

"Busy," he finished for her. "I know." 

She was still figuring out the balance between being in the field and being in the office. The paperwork and requisitions were endless. It wasn't exactly what she had in mind when they offered her the command, but the madness should end soon. So much had changed recently. 

She shoved a few sheets into a folder and then into her briefcase. "Is there anything else?" 

"No, not really. I just want to remind you to go home." 

"I could say the same to you." 

"You could. Except I fell asleep in the break room, so technically, I didn't mean to be here with late." He flashed her a grin. The bunks were supposed to be for agents who were on call. 

"I didn't hear that." 

"Then there shouldn't be beds in there." 

Peggy stood up, ready to go, and only then did she realized he was watching her intently despite the relaxed tone. 

"Ma'am? Can I ask you a question?" he said when she met his eye. 

"Of course." She sat back down. He sounded serious. She made sure the necklace tucked beneath her shirt was still hidden, a habit she'd picked up since she started wearing it. 

"Carter, is everything okay? Things have seemed different lately." She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going. "And I don't mean the job. Is there something you want to tell me?" 

She blinked at him. Of course, the answer was yes. Everything was fine, but everything had also changed. Very quickly. So quickly in fact that she had wanted to keep this one thing to herself, one thing private, away from the press and from any judgment. 

None of her colleagues had noticed or said anything. But then again, none of them would. The barrier between herself and everyone else was just different now. She might not be considered The Woman, but she was now In Charge. Just a different line in the sand now; one she didn't mind so much. 

Sousa would be only one to notice and speak up about it. They were friends beyond anything else. They had stood shoulder to shoulder through a great deal, keeping in step with their differences from the rest of the S.S.R. division. 

"Oh damn," she repeated. "Some spy I am. Well, I guess the secret is out." 

He looked at her confused. 

"Goodness, I thought you'd figured it out." 

"If I had, would I be asking?" 

"Well, I suppose not. Yes, everything's fine." 

"Are you sure?" He looked so genuinely worried. 

"Of course." She tried to give him a reassuring smile. 

"Don't think I haven't noticed you coming and going. This is the first time in a week you’ve stayed late." 

“Have you been watching me?” 

"Peggy, please. You can talk to me. You know that right?" 

"Why do you automatically assume it's something bad?" 

"Because the last time I thought you were hiding something, you got arrested for treason."

"Don't be so dramatic, Daniel. I got married." 

His mouth fell open. If he had been a cartoon character, he'd be picking his jaw off the floor. "You what?" 

“Married.” 

She pulled out the chain she’d been fiddling with. On the end spun a set of wedding rings. She had wanted to keep them close without having to wear openly. Sousa gawked. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He shook his head. “Wait, who the hell did you marry?” 

She laughed. “Steve.” 

“Steve? Steve Rogers? You married Captain America and you didn’t say anything!” He slumped back in his chair, looking defeated. He shook his head and everything about him said, ‘Carter you’re impossible.’ “I didn’t even know you were seeing him. Jesus. Or anyone.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly a work related topic. If you must know, Steve and I had a lot of history before he went missing. It all felt back into place as soon as he returned."

“Since he came back? This whole time! Almost a year.” 

“Six months since the wedding.” 

He was shaking his head again. “That’s where you went last fall. It wasn’t to visit your friend.” 

“We stopped in L.A.” 

“But he’s supposed to out of the country. That’s why he hasn’t been in the papers.” 

“He’s away a lot, but we live in Brooklyn.” 

“You’re impossible,” he said, voicing what he had been thinking. “Well, congrats, I guess.” 

“Thanks.” She stood up again. “It’s late. I really should be getting home.”

Peggy lifted her briefcase off the desk and headed towards the door. He got heavily up from his chair to follow her. 

“It’s nice to have someone to go home to,” he said. “Really, I’m happy for you.” 

She smiled again. “Thank you, Daniel. I do feel badly for keeping from you, but secrecy was the only way to ensure it stayed out of the press. His life had been so public. The last thing he wanted was our faces on the front page.” 

He nodded as they moved through the operator's room. It was empty, all the sensible employee having long gone home. They exited into the lobby. It was still steadily raining. 

"You don't have an umbrella," he said, looking far more concerned than was necessary. 

"I didn't know it was going to rain. I'll be alright." 

"Let me get you a cab," he said and ducked outside before she could argue. 

She hadn't been planning to take a cab. The subway would have been fine, but she didn't want to reject the gesture. When a yellow car stopped, he waved and held the door open for her. She dashed through the rain drops and into the back seat. 

"Thanks," Peggy said. "Have a good weekend." 

"Get home safe," he answered. 

“Just go home, Sousa,” she said. 

He smiled and he closed the door. 

She was also smiling as she settled in the back. She gave the driver—a large man with very tan skin that took up more than his fair share of the front seat—the cross streets. He sighed deeply when he realized it was in Brooklyn, but she was already in the car with Sousa watching, so he pulled away from the curb. 

There wasn't much traffic and the taxi was soon whipping over the Manhattan Bridge. She sat up to watch the arches of the Brooklyn Bridge and to see the Manhattan skyline. Almost seven years since she moved to New York—though much less recently to Brooklyn—and it was still a mesmerizing view. She missed England sometimes, but there was nothing like the magic of New York. 

The rain-washed city was lit up and she was riding in the back a taxi; it still felt like something that belonged in a film. It was hard to believe that taxi was going to take to her home, to where her husband was waiting. That felt like something out a film too. Maybe even a fairy tale. How many people got a second chance like she'd had? 

The driver turned onto her street and she directed him to the brownstone. She pulled out the fare and passed it through the little window. 

"Stay dry," he said, speaking for the first time. 

He probably didn't mean it, but it sounded smug to Peggy. It was still coming down and he had stopped three doors ahead of where she had told him. 

"Not likely," she said and threw open the door. 

She darted up the dozen steps to the front door, getting drenched even with her briefcase as a makeshift umbrella. She fumbled with the keys and got even wetter until she finally burst through the door, slamming it behind her. 

It was an old building. The stair creaked and the pipes clanged. The paint was peeling and the floors in the hallway could use a polish. Their apartment was on the third floor. It was small, but it was just right for the two of them. There were only four rooms. The kitchen, where she could reach both walls with her spread arms, two bedrooms, and the living room with a wall of exposed brick.

She headed up the other set of steps and into their apartment. She leaned against the door for a moment, dripping onto the floor. Inside the apartment was dark. The rain obscured most of the light from the street. She could only make out the outline of the furniture and a figure sleeping on the couch. 

She felt her way into the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. She surveyed the scene again now that enough light spilled into the living room to actually see. She'd forgotten how cold and wet she was in an instant. 

Steve was sprawled out on the couch, a file resting on his chest as it rose and fell. She couldn't help the smile. He must have been trying very hard to wait up for her but had probably passed out before the sun had set. She didn't blame him; he'd been traveling so much lately. And she was very late. 

Who would have thought she would come home to a sight like this? 

She had moved on; she had stopped thinking about what ifs at night. Well, every single night at least. That was when she'd got a call. 

It was Mr. Jarvis, calling on behalf of Mr. Stark and against the government's wishes. 

"They found a plane, Miss Carter," he had said. 

Despite any context, she had known exactly what he meant. She had resigned herself to the fact that Steve was dead. It would have been foolish to hope for anything else after five years, but at least his grave at Arlington would be more than an empty memorial. She would bring him home in the only way she could. She had nearly collapsed at the thought. For it to be final though it was heartbreaking, was also a relief in a small way. 

Then, Stark had strong-armed his way onto the line to say the words that changed everything. "He's alive." 

Jarvis had stayed on the phone long enough to give her the location and the phone number for one of Stark's pilots, who would be waiting for her call. She had barely stopped to tell the Chief where she was going and that she didn't plan on coming back for a while. 

She hadn't fully grasped the science; she hadn't cared. He wasn't dead. Something to do with the serum and its regenerative properties and the ice. Stark had been right. Steve was still alive, suspended in time.

It took weeks before Steve finally opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Peggy sitting by his bed. 

"Did I miss the dance?" he'd whispered. 

Even after he was cleared medically, nothing had happened between them for a few more weeks. She was still an agent and Steve had his work to do, too. Press tours, debriefings, photo shoots, all in Washington DC. He was whisked off almost at once, so their time together was limited to long phone conversations. 

No matter what he looked like, or what he was capable of, he was still the shy man she'd first met and Peggy wanted him to set the pace. Let him decided. He had to adjust to a great deal and she was helping him, but she didn't want to add to the pressure. Her lifetime of wondering had ended after only five years; she could stand a little more time. 

On the day of the official announcement that Captain America had returned and only a month after he had woken up, he asked her to marry him. 

"I want to dance with you every day for the rest of my life," he had said. 

He kissed her and she had known that's exactly what she was going to do. 

They married at the courthouse in Brooklyn a few weeks later. It was a quiet affair. Neither of them had wanted the press involved; the dogs had been hungry for any information since Steve's miraculous recovery. They both used all their spy training to keep the secret. It had been a surprise to even the small group they had invited. There had been only a handful of people, most importantly Angie, Jarvis and a blubbering Stark, and Peggy in a white dress. 

She and Steve had fallen into a domestic bliss since then. Though they still fought, loudly and with lots of slamming of doors, but always made up and apologized for their stubbornness. Neither were home for very often. Each happily dashed off on various missions and just as happily coming home again. 

A year since he had woken up and six months said they became husband and wife, and it all still felt like a gift. Each morning that she woke beside him and was utterly content. He walked in the room and she felt at peace. He was the only person she wanted to talk to in times of crisis, big or small. Just the sight of him sleeping on their couch made her heart swell. She was tired and dripping wet and she didn't care. She had a great love. 

She crossed the living room and she perched on the edge of the sofa. She pulled the file off his chest and closed it before putting it on the coffee table. Her husband didn't stir. She leaned down and kissed him. 

Steve let out a deep sigh and blinked up at her. He let out a jaw-cracking yawn and pushed himself up a little further. 

"You're late," he said with the sleep still in his voice.

"Not as late as you were," she answered. 

He yawned again. "Are you ever going to let that go?" 

"Never." 

He sat up suddenly and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her onto his lap.

She squealed both in alarm and laughter. "Careful!" 

He reached up and kissed her. She closed her eyes and leaned in him. She loved his man. 

"Why are you all wet?" he asked when they broke apart. 

She pushed a hand through her dripping hair. She knew without having to look it had lost all its curl. "It's raining." 

"But you're soaking," he said. 

"It's raining quite hard and I didn't have an umbrella."

"You should get changed. You must be freezing." 

She pressed a hand to his chest and leaned down again. Her lips just brushing against his. "I'm warming up." 

"I'm serious. You're going to catch a cold."

She gave him another quick kiss. "You sound like my Nan," she said, but got up—with his help—and moved towards their bedroom. The last thing she needed was to get sick. 

She peeled off her clothes and hung them on the wrought iron footboard of their bed alongside some of Steve's. Now that she was free of stockings and girdles and buttons and zippers, the last thing she wanted to put on was anything constricting. So, she grabbed his t-shirt and her dressing gown. 

Steve was rustling papers in the other room, so she went back to join him. She didn't care that it was pushing one o'clock in the morning. 

He was sitting up properly now, shuffling the other files spread out on the coffee table. She settled on the couch and shoved her bare toes under his leg to keep them warm. She reached across the cushions and rested her hand on his shoulder. 

"Better?" she asked. 

"Much. Is that my shirt? It's not clean." 

She could tell. It smelled wonderfully of him. "As long as you didn't run a marathon in it, I don't care." 

"No, no marathons," he said distracted by the paperwork. 

She sat quietly for a moment as he finished. He leaned back and pulled her feet onto his lap. 

"Hi," he said, ready to pay full attention now. 

"Hello, my darling." 

"How was your day?" he asked. "Besides the rain." 

"Fine, just long," she said with a sigh and then added, "Our secret is out. Sousa guessed something was up. He was worried I was going to get arrested again.” 

“That’s my wife, always getting into trouble.” 

“You did not know what you were getting yourself into when you married me.” 

“I did have some idea.” 

She was distracted from their banter by pulling the chain over her head. She undid the clasp and unwound the rings. They fell gently into her open palm. He reached out. Taking the engagement ring and then the wedding band from her. He took her left hand and slipped each into their rightful place. The rings had belonged to Steve’s mother. 

"How was your day? The trip?" she said. He had got home so late last night she'd already been asleep and she had left so early they had had little more than a chance to say hello. 

"All fine. It's good to be home, but I’m ready for bed," he said. 

"Because you've been awake for so long," she said. 

She teased him though she was also looking forward to sleep. They both seemed reluctant to actually move. Finally, she got up. They both danced around the sink in the bathroom for a few minutes, but he finished much faster than she did. By the time she was done, he was already under the covers. She turned off the light and slipped in beside him. As soon as she settled, he put his arms around her again and tucked his chin over her shoulder. 

The room was dark and she could hear nothing, but the rain still splatting on the window. She could feel Steve breathing and the warmth where his bare skin touched hers. She closed her eyes. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, safe in his arms. 

****

It seemed impossible that morning could so quickly. It felt as if Peggy had slept only five minutes when the phone started blaring in the other room. She woke suddenly at the noise. At least grey light fringed the curtains. Steve was already untangling himself from the sheets. 

"Don't," she mumbled. "Just leave it." 

"It might be something important." 

"It's always something important. Let's just stay in bed today." 

He was already up and heading for the other room. 

"It'll be for me," she said. 

"I know." 

She heard his distance voice and then he was back. She was already getting up. She knew it would be for her. Steve traveled a lot more, but he never got calls at—she checked the clock—just after five in the morning. She sighed. 

"Who is it?" she asked. 

"Sousa." 

"I don't think he went home last night." 

She moved passed her husband and went to the phone. 

"Carter," she said into the receiver. 

"So sorry to bother you, especially, um, now, but the director wants you here." 

"Details?" She pulled out a notebook from the little drawer in the table where the phone sat. 

He gave her the address and then said, "There are canisters, like one of Stark's from years ago." 

"We recovered all his inventions." 

"So he says." 

That was a fair point. She sighed again. "Okay, I'm on my way." 

"I'm really sorry to bother you. I couldn't come up with a reason not to call you." 

"Be there as soon as I can," she said, ignoring the comment. 

She hung up, annoyed. She should always be at the scene. Why was he trying to come up with excuses for her? She stormed back into the bedroom and started digging through her drawers to find clothing. 

"You going in?" Steve asked. He was back in bed, sitting up against the pillows. 

"Yes," she said shortly. 

"So much for a day off." 

She looked at him through the reflection in the mirror above the dresser. "I'll be back. Don't you go anywhere." 

He gave her a little salute. "Yes, ma'am." 

"I'm not going to the office. I just won't. I haven't had a day off in ages. I get why I have to go to the scene, but—" She only finished the sentence with a groan. 

He didn’t say anything but gave her a sympathetic look. She turned to face him and took a few steps towards the bed. 

“Don’t look at me with those sad eyes,” she said pointing at him with a stern gesture. 

He gave her a coy smile now, motioning her to come even closer. 

“Or those kind of eyes. I have to go.” 

He flopped back on the pillows. 

When she was ready, she thought he had fallen back to sleep. Well, someone should get a full night's rest. She paused by the door. 

"I love you," she said quietly. 

"Love you too," he answered. 

She smiled to herself as she left. She hailed another cab and asked for a recipe. If she was getting to work at six o'clock in the morning on her first Saturday off in a month, she was going to expense the ride there. 

She was half way there when she realized she was still wearing her rings on her finger. The chain was at home. She didn't want to risk losing them in a pocket, so she left them on. Now the secret was really going to be out in the open. For the rest of the ride, she entertained herself trying to guess which of her agents would notice first.

The cabbie dropped her off in front of a warehouse by the docks, an area that should normally be deserted this early in the morning. Instead, the scene was roped off and crawling with agents and police. Peggy flashed her ID and a police officer let her through. She stopped dead in her tracks. 

Two men were exiting the building and they were wearing full hazmat suits. They carried something on a stretcher between them. Peggy moved back to give them a wide berth. Anything that required a hazmat suit was not to be toyed with. 

Sousa and a few other agents approached. 

"It's not as bad as all that," Mac—short for McKenzie—said, but he handed her gloves anyway. "The scientists say not to touch it since they don't know what it is. The one canister was leaking. That's the one they took away." 

"I don't like the chemicals," said Paulson. 

"Me neither. I'm the one who got blasted last time," said Sousa. 

"I'm really sorry to drag you down here," Sousa said so no one else could hear. "I didn't know what to say." 

"About what?" she said. 

“Your day off. Your reason to take a day off.” 

“This is the job. Don’t worry about me. I'll just take a quick look." 

She followed Sousa inside. The warehouse had been abandoned. Half the ceiling was missing and there was a pool of stagnant water below the hole. The section that was still covered had been turned into some kind of makeshift lab. There were half a dozen tables laden with beakers and test tubes and instruments Peggy didn't recognize. Some of the experiments were still smoking. She was going to stay as far as she could from those. 

Half the agents were in masks and gloves and a few more men in hazmat suits were scrubbing the uneven floor with big, stiff mops with some kind of neutralizing agent. It smelled caustic and she put the back of her hand in front her mouth and nose. 

"Over here, ma'am," called Mac. 

He was standing next to one of the tables she had just decided to avoid and pointing at a wooden crate underneath it. 

She moved closer and pulled on her gloves. She tried to be aware of ten things at once. Mac and Paulson were explaining something. A few other agents and scientists were examining the other experiments. The cleanup. The sounds of a vehicle pulling up. 

"So, these were the things that were leaking?" she said. 

"Yes, ma'am," said both Mac and Paulson at the same time. 

"There's two crates," said Mac. "This one seems to be intact." 

"Could they be Stark's?" asked Paulson. 

"Would Stark be working in a place like this?" she said. 

"No, of course not," Mac said. "But he could've sold them or from the missing stuff." 

"I don't think so, but we can certainly ask." She turned to Sousa. ”Could you get me a mask or something?" 

"Yeah, sure." He moved off right away. 

She followed him for a few paces and then decided to just get the survey over with. Mac and Paulson were waiting to show her something else when the scene exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve's footsteps pounded on the tiled floor as he raced down the hall. People were staring, but people were always staring. Either because they recognized him or because he just never seemed to fit anywhere. They were staring now because he was running down the hallway like a bull in a china shop. 

Sousa had said an agent had died. There had been lost of life. Something had blown up and someone was dead. Peggy hadn't been at the center, but she had been unconscious when they brought her in. That was about all Sousa knew when he called. They wouldn't give him medical information. Someone had died, though. Steve had been gone out to get a bagel for breakfast. It had taken Sousa a while to get a hold of him. 

Steve skidded to halt in front of the nurse's station. 

"My wife," he said, too panicky to come up with a more complex sentence. 

"Take a deep breath," said the woman. 

He wasn't out of breath; he didn't think he could get out of breath. 

"They brought my wife in," he said, trying to calm himself down. 

"That I gathered. I need a name." 

"Peggy Carter. Margaret." 

She checked some paperwork. "Okay, Mr. Carter—"

"Rogers. She never changed her last name." Why was he telling her this? What did it matter? 

"Okay, Mr. Rogers. She's in 334 and in stable condition, but—" He started to walk away and she had to call after him. "There's a note here asking for you to speak to the doctor first. Sir!" 

He was already halfway down the passage. Her legs were practically half the height of his and she had to jog to keep up. 

"Mr. Rogers, I must ask you to wait," she said. 

He stopped. "What's your name?" 

"Nurse Russo." 

"Okay, Nurse Russo. I have to see my wife. She's been hurt." 

"I know. It's in the chart. We're taking very good care of her. She is not my patient, however. I can't speak to her condition beyond what's on the note and Dr. Harvey would like to speak to you first." 

"Please at least let me see her." 

"I will take you to her room if you agree to wait outside. I saw the doctor just a minute ago. He won't take long." 

He sighed in frustration. "Deal." 

She strode ahead of him and turned down a second, shorter corridor. Peggy's room was the first door. He peered through the window. The room was bright and sunny; the storm during the night had given way to a gorgeous day. She was facing away from him and curled in bed. Her dark hair spread out on the white pillowcase. He ached to slip in behind her and hold her closely just as he had been doing only a few hours ago. 

Russo waited just long enough to make sure he wasn't reaching for the doorknob before hurrying off to find the doctor. 

"Can I help you?" 

Steve tore his gaze away from the curve of Peggy's shoulder to look at who had spoken. It was another nurse holding a water pitcher and a stack of cups. She was tall and stocky and older. Her very dark skin contrasted with her very grey hair. He had heard a slight accent when she spoke. She actually sounded a little bit like Peggy. 

"My wife," he said and pointed half-heartedly. 

The nurse looked him up and down. "Of course, someone did say she was married to Captain America. I didn't quite believe it until...now. I thought surely sometimes like that would be in the papers. The officer? Agent?" 

"They're agents." 

"The agent with the dark hair and the limp said he was going to ring you since you weren’t listed as next of kin. I never did get his name. He was fine, but he was very upset." 

Steve didn't really have room in his brain to worry about Sousa's feelings. He didn't answer. He looked back through the window. Why couldn't he go in? 

"I'm Steve Rogers," he said, holding out his hand but his attention had wandered back to Peggy. 

"I know. I'm Nurse Taylor," she said as she shook it.

"Is she going to be okay? Why can't go in?" 

Taylor started to speak, but the doctor appeared at the same moment. 

"That's for me to answer," said Dr. Harvey. He was a little man and completely bald. "Mr. Rogers, it's an honor to meet you. I wish it was under different circumstances." 

He extended a hand and Steve shook it numbly. 

"How is she?" Steve asked. 

"Physically fine. A few bumps and bruises, one on her head we were a bit worried about, but it's not our biggest concern. There's something else. We don't think it was caused by the head wound. There was a substance at the scene that the scientists are looking at." 

"What's wrong?" 

"Transient global amnesia."

"Memory loss?" 

"Complete memory loss. She doesn't know her own name." 

Somehow the doctor's directness was appreciated, but it didn't really help the way Steve's world bottomed out. He slumped against the wall and lean his head downward. 

"What do we do?" he said. 

"For now. We wait," said Harvey. "A few of her colleagues are also suffering from amnesia." 

"From what?" 

"We're not sure. Details have been hard to come by given no one remembers what happened. That's what the scientists are looking into. We are all hopeful this is temporary. This type of amnesia usually is, but it's hard to say given how strange the cause is." 

"Can I see her?" said Steve. 

"She doesn't know you," said Nurse Taylor. 

"I can still sit with her. Be there for her. She did that for me once. For a month, she sat by my bed." 

"The familiar face might trigger something," said Taylor. 

"Perhaps. If we take it slow," said Harvey. "We have one more thing to talk about. Have you ever heard of tabula rasa?" 

"No." 

"It means blank slate. Without her memories, your wife has no experiences to rely on. Things that informed her personality, her likes, and dislikes, it's all gone. She can tell you what chocolate is, but can’t tell you if she likes the taste. She is not going to react the way you would expect. In fact, she's been rather a difficult patient." 

Steve ran a hand through his hair and tried to process what he was hearing. "That actually sounds like her." 

"She's calm now," continued Harvey, "and I'd need her to stay that way. She doesn't understand what happened to her." 

"Don't press her to remember things and don't get frustrated if she doesn't know what you're talking about," added Taylor. 

"Okay, I get it." He didn't get it. That was a lie. "Can I go in now?" 

Harvey gestured towards the door. Steve reached for it and entered the room slowly. He didn't want to startle her or wake her. He was always aware of just how big of a man he was. He was imposing just standing up straight. 

He moved around the bed. Peggy didn't stir. She curled in a ball and hugging her pillow. There was a fat bandage on her forehead and a few other scraps and marks on her body. She looked asleep. 

He wanted to reach out to her, to stroke her hair, to hold her hand, but he resisted. It was strange not being allowed to touch her. Whenever they were together, he had to be as close as possible. He was always holding her hand or just making sure he was brushed up against her. She did it too, though. Last night on the couch, she had put a hand on his shoulder while he finished up this work. The memory was almost physical; he could almost feel her hand on his shoulder. He would dream of doing anything like that without her permission and, at the moment, he didn't have it. 

She opened her eyes, fully aware and put a finger to her lips to say 'shhh.' He frowned back. 

"I know you are not asleep," said Nurse Taylor. She was still on the other side of the bed and still couldn't see Peggy's face. "I only left two minutes ago. We didn’t say anything you haven’t heard already. There is no need to eavesdrop." 

"Thanks a lot," Peggy hissed and Steve realized it was directed at him. What had he done? 

"You have a visitor. Can you sit up and say hello?" said Taylor as she set down the water and cups and then pulled up a chair for Steve. 

Peggy signed as if she was being asked to climb Mount Everest, but she sat up. She was battered and she looked as beautiful as ever. The sun that was filling the room played off her hair and lit up her eyes. Her gaze was complicated and dappled. It was like there was gold in her eyes. 

“ _Poets needed to write more about how beautiful brown eyes were_ ,” he thought.

There was one thing missing: recognition. She eyed him like she was measuring an asset. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to introduce himself again. He was regretting just barging in here without more information. He was always so reckless. 

"You don't have to speak to me like I'm a child," she said. "I can see perfectly well there is a strange man in the room." 

“He’s not a stranger,” said Taylor. 

“I’ve never seen him before.” 

“We’ve talked about this.” 

Peggy crossed her arms stubbornly. 

"It’s okay. I'm Steve," he said. 

"Tell him your name," said Taylor and it earned her another withering look from Peggy. 

"I don't know my name and I don't know why I'm being held." 

"You are not being held. You were injured—this is a hospital." 

"I recall being told restraints would be used." 

"Only because you would not cooperate with the examination. We needed to make sure you were all right." 

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” 

“Peggy, please,” said Steve. 

Her attention shifted to him. “Who are you?” 

He almost leaned away at the focus of her glare. She was so angry, so ready to fight. 

“I’m Steve,” he said again. 

“Yes, you said that and it doesn’t explain anything.” 

“I’m Steve Rogers. I’m—we’re married. I’m your husband.” 

“He’s rather famous,” said Taylor. 

Peggy snorted. "My husband? That can't be right." 

He wasn’t sure if she was objecting to the husband part or the famous part. "Why not? Because I'm so handsome?" He smiled at her, testing out a joke. 

"No,” she said shortly. “Because I’m better off alone.” 

That hurt like a slow, sharp scalpel across his heart. Could that be what this what she really thought? Half of him knew that wasn't true, but the part of him that was still surprised when he woke up next to her had the smallest doubt. 

She didn’t know her own name and yet she was positive she didn't want to be married. Had he somehow roped her into something she didn't want? Was this the life she would’ve chosen? She had seemed happy on their wedding day. She always seemed happy to see him and happy when he touched her, loved her. 

He got up suddenly and scrambled for the exit. He couldn't look at her. 

"Where are you going?" she demanded. 

"I'll be right back," he mumbled. 

He burst into the hall somehow hoping there would be some relief like the air would be easier to breath. He paced to the end of the hallway. His heart hammered. It all spilled over. He lashed out. One solid jab directed at the wall. The drywall crumbled under the impact. The sight of the perfectly fist-shaped hole forced all the fight out of him. It all evaporated as quickly as it had come. 

He slumped against the damaged wall and slid to the floor. He covered his face with his hands. 

"You all right?" 

He looked up. Nurse Taylor was standing above him. "No." 

"The wall has certainly felt better." 

He glanced up at the hole again. "Damn. Yeah, I'll, um, pay for that." 

"Don't know your own strength?" 

"Something like that." He flexed his hands. Even after all this time, they still seemed too big. 

"I can't imagine how hard this must be, but she really needs to you right now. Even if she doesn't know it." 

“She doesn’t want me.” Even he wasn’t sure if talking about in the room or in general. 

“She doesn’t know you or herself.”

“She seems pretty sure.” 

“Perhaps she felt that way at one point, but her experiences changed her. She’s missing those experiences. You’re newlyweds—you must’ve been happy.” 

“We were. I thought we were at least.” 

“You couldn’t have been this wrong. I have a feeling you can’t force that woman to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” 

“No, you can’t.” 

“See. You’ll just have to remind her what she loved about you.” 

"I'm scared I lost everything," he blurred out. 

"Your wife is right there. I have every hope she will get her memories back. It's just going to take some time and a little faith." 

He hadn't ever doubted it. There was no question. He had to believe she would get better and even if she didn't, he would still be there every step. Peggy was his support, a port in the storm. He had to be that for her. He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t force her, but he wasn’t going to back down either. 

Someone cleared their throat and Steve and Nurse Taylor were distracted. Sousa was standing closer to Peggy’s room. Steve scrambled up. 

“I should get back,” said Taylor. “We can’t leave her alone for long. She keeps trying to escape.” She went back into the room, leaving Steve to talk to Sousa. 

“Sorry to interrupt, sir. I wanted to update you," said Sousa, acting like he hadn’t seen Steve sitting on the floor. 

“You don’t have to call me sir. It’s Sousa, right?” 

Steve had met Sousa once before. There had been a meet and greet for the S.S.R. higher ups. Peggy had been there and made sure Sousa had also been on the list. Sousa just thought it was good to have a connection who had known Captain America during the war. Steve had really wanted to vet his fiancée’s partner. 

Sousa nodded. 

"How are you?" Steve asked. 

He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine. I wasn't inside." 

"What happened?" 

"We're having a hard time getting details since, um, no one inside can remember. There was an explosion. Not a big one, but enough to do some damage. One of the cleaning crew was closest and got the full blast. Poor bastard. It took out these canisters we were investigating and they released a smoke. The whole place was some kind of lab with experiments and stuff.”

"How many people?"

"Less than a dozen with injuries and five, including Carter, with memory loss." 

Steve sighed. He looked back through the window. Peggy looked like herself. From here nothing was wrong. 

"How is she?" Sousa asked. 

"Fine, I guess. Still doesn't remember anything, though." 

"I'm so sorry." 

"For what?" 

"I called her in. It was her day off." 

"It's the job." 

Steve was seriously regretting getting out of bed, but it wasn't Sousa's fault. 

"Our scientists are looking into it now," Sousa said. "They'll figure out what it is and what to do. We called Stark too. Just in case." 

"Stark? What does he have to do with it?" 

"There are some questions about the origin of the stuff. Plus, his labs outpaces ours. Everyone is working on this. I promise." 

Steve offered a hand to Sousa and they shook. 

"Thanks. We appreciate it. Even if she doesn't know it." He tried his best at a smile. 

"The thing is, I'm only okay because I went back outside to get her a mask. She was being careful." 

Steve didn't know if that made it better or worst. "I'm glad you're okay."

“I had a heck of a time convincing everyone she was married. You’re not listed on next of kin.”

“We just wanted the privacy.” That too seemed unimportant now. 

"I'll let you get back." 

Steve didn’t want to go back. Despite the promises he had just made himself, he didn’t want to face it. He watched Sousa leave. He signed and turned back to the door to face things as he always did: head on. 

"I have an idea,” he said as cheerfully as he could muster when he went back into Peggy’s room. “I could go home and get some things. Pictures and stuff. Telling you all these things about your life without any proof isn’t going to go any good.” He didn't wait for her answer before adding one more item. "You have to promise to stay here while I’m gone. That point is non-negotiable.” 

“Sounds like a fair deal to me,” said Taylor. 

“Maybe it would help,” said Peggy. 

He nodded. He didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic. "I will happily go and get them," he said. 

****

Steve ran home as fast as he could, grabbing everything that had memories attached to it. The family photo album, war records, a stack of unsorted pictures, her briefcase. He got her go bag with him too. It was filled with her own clothes and toiletries including her signature red lipstick that got everywhere when she kissed him. He took everything he could think of and went back to the hospital. 

She was still in bed when he entered her room with his armload. She looked sulky. 

"I'm back," he said. 

"I see that." 

"I brought some things from home." 

"I see that too." 

He sat in the chair and dumped everything onto the bed. 

"I hope they treated you alright while I was gone." 

"I was poked and prodded again." 

"That happens in hospitals. I remember from when I was a kid. I was sick all the time before the serum." 

"The magic superhero serum?" 

"Yeah, that.” He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. “So, um, go through all of it. All the classified stuff is still at the apartment."

He looked at her expectantly, but she didn't move. He remembered one other thing. From his pocket where is always kept it, he pulled out his compassed. It had seen him through training and all his years in Europe and it had survived with him in the ice. They had found it frozen in the wreckage of the plane. The glass was cracked now and the photo warped because of the water damage. 

He offered it to her and she took reluctantly. 

"I don't know why I didn't think about this before. I might not have had to go all the way home. Open it," he said. 

She did and stared down at the faded image. She didn't say anything or even react. 

"I know it's hard to tell, but that's you. I've carried that with me every day for years. I guess you could say I'm lost without it." He grinned at her. 

"What if this doesn't work? What if I don't remember anything ever?" she said and wiped the smile off his face in a second. 

"I have hope." 

"I can't do this with you staring at me." 

“Sorry! I don’t know what you want me to do.” 

“Just look out the window or something. Christ, anything. Just stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes!” 

He picked up a stack of a newspaper clipping from the days after the announcement of his return. They had meant to put them into another scrapbook, but one album as about as much as they could handle. He pretended to be looking through them. She opened the album. 

"To no one's surprise," Peggy announced after only a few minutes, "none of this means anything to me." 

"I can help with that." 

She pushed the album towards him. It was open to the first two pages. Each side was filled with their parents' wedding photos. 

"Who are they?" she asked pointing. 

"Those are your parents, Harrison and Amanda." 

"So then these are your parents?" 

"Yes, Sarah and Joe. She's wearing your rings in the picture in the corner. Or I guess you're wearing hers. The wedding rings were my mom's." 

She looked at her left hand but then flipped to the next page without dwelling. They went through the whole album. Page by page filled with the faces of their family, friends, and their important life events. The days in the service, Peggy's time in New York and L.A. without him, the time with him, their wedding. He talked and she listened, getting quieter the more she learned. 

"Who’s that? She’s been a lot of these," she said, pointing to a picture of Peggy and Angie at the beach with Santa Monica Pier in the background. 

"Angie. She’s your best friend. You're very close, like sisters. She’s a Hollywood star, so she lives in California.” 

“Hollywood?”

“Where they make most movies. She’s an actress. You both hate that you live so far away. She’s going to be so upset I haven’t told her you’re in the hospital." 

She passed a hand across her forehead as if wiping something away. "And him?" she said. 

He had more than figured out the pattern by now. Peggy only wanted facts. The second he started to mention anything emotional, she moved on to the next page. He let it go. 

Steve stared down at a photo Bucky and himself together. It was after the serum and Bucky was measuring himself against Steve's new height. They were both laughing a little. 

"James Barnes or Bucky. He was my oldest friend and my only family for a long time." 

"What happened?" 

"He died." 

She didn't press him. Too personal. 

"You knew him too," he said. "We were all in the same unit during the war. He was a great man. Saved my life a thousand times before we even got overseas. Any son of ours is getting named James after him." 

"Please stop. I know what you're trying to do." 

"I'm trying to act like everything's normal." 

"It’s giving me a headache. I don’t recognize any of this. It’s ridiculous,” she said. 

She shoved the album and tipped off the bed. The loose photos scattered everywhere. 

"Hey," he said with anger edging his voice as he bent down to pick up the pieces. "This stuff might not mean anything to you right now, but it's pretty important to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I am your husband, they call me a superhero, and you are not being held against your will.” 

“Then let me leave. I stayed and looked at your pictures. It didn’t work.”

“You didn’t try very hard. And you leaving is not up to me.” 

“It’s not up to me to be kept here.” 

“You are not being kept. It’s for medical reasons. We don’t know what this stuff did. The doctors have to be able to monitor you.” 

“Let me leave,” she repeated. 

“I can’t give up.” 

“You say you love me.”

“That’s not fair.” 

“Please,” she said and the look on her face was desperate. Her tone changed. It lost all its fight and became intimate. “I’ll do anything.” She was trying everything she had to get out of the hospital. 

“If you can tell me where you would go,” he said. He wasn’t actually going to give in, but maybe he could convince her to stay. 

She cast around. “It’s secret.” 

Suddenly, Steve realized what was going on. Peggy was operating on muscle memory. She had been a spy longer than anything else. She was falling back on her training because she thought she was in enemy territory. She wanted to flee and hole up somewhere she felt safe. He had some small idea of what it was like to wake up in an unfamiliar place. He had been asleep and trapped in ice for five years. But he had woken to her familiar face and he had known who he was. She had nothing, but her most basic instincts. How could he have missed it? She wasn’t hostile; she was afraid. She was pushing him away probably on purpose. She just wanted to run. 

He started to reach for her hand. She saw his movement and jerk out of his reach. 

"Don't," she warned. 

"I'm sorry. It's habit." He folded his hands in his lap to keep himself from trying again. "I didn't mean—I won't—if you don't want..." He quit while he was ahead and just left the thought unfinished. 

She was giving him a strange, pitying look, like ‘this poor idiot.' He stared down at his hands. 

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing," he said. "You used to make me nervous." 

"I don't understand you. You tell me you’re a ‘superhero’ and yet you’re scared to talk to me." 

"I was a different person when we met. A lot has changed. You used to make me nervous on purpose. It made you laugh." 

"There's nothing funny about this," she said. 

"I'm trying my best.” 

He started to glance up again. Instead of seeing her sitting comfortably in the hospital bed, he saw her flying towards him. She was on top of him with a syringe in her hand before he could even react. She snuck the needle his arm. He was so surprised and he was so tired and his guard was so far down that he merely thought, " _Where did that come from?_ "

He discovered quickly that it was a sedative. There was nothing to support him and he slumped sideways and onto the floor. He wasn’t entirely unconscious. The dose was probably calculated for Peggy’s size, not his. 

She stepped over him and started looking in the cabinets that lined one wall. She found the bag with her clothes in it. He tried to get up, but his brain seemed to be controlling to wrong body parts. He fell again. He had to protect her. 

“Peggy, please,” he said though the words were slurring. “I’m trying to help.” 

“I can’t trust anyone,” she said from the doorway. 

The room went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got worried about the hook for this. So I finished the next part as soon as I could.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mr. Rogers! What happened?” 

Steve opened his eyes. He’d given into the sedative. He was still on the floor. Nurse Taylor grabbed his arm to help him up but was hardly able to match his size. He was still shaky, but his limbs seemed to be working again. He pulled himself to sit on the bed. 

“She drugged me,” he said. 

“Christ Almighty! When? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Fine. Except my wife drugged me.” He looked up. “Not long. We have to find her."

“Of course.” 

A few other people came rushing into the room. Steve rubbed both hands over his eyes, trying to clear the last of fog. The commotion was too much to process. 

“Agent Carter has escaped. Find her!” ordered Taylor. 

“She’s dangerous,” Steve said, becoming more and more aware. “Lock down the hospital.” 

“Dangerous?” said an orderly with a grin. 

There wasn’t time to educate him. “She is a highly-trained federal agent—” 

Someone called for help in the hall. Steve didn’t wait for anyone else. He took off. A junior doctor was stumbling through a doorway with a gash on his forehead, blood staining his white coat. He looked at Steve. 

“There’s a woman,” said the doctor. “She attacked me. She hit me with a textbook.” 

“Where does that lead?” Steve said, motioning to the door. 

“Stairs. The doors lock.”

“Do you have keys?” 

“Just to this door. I borrow them from maintenance. I was studying. It’s quiet. She got mad.” 

“Someone take care of him.” Steve passed him off to a nurse and reached for the door. 

“She attacked me,” said the doctor again. 

“She’s scared,” Steve said. “And she can’t hurt me.” 

He pulled open the door. He heard her yanking on the doors to other floors before he could see her. She’d gone down to get to street level. It wasn’t a fire exit or anything. The stairwell was internal, just leading to other sections of the hospital. Peggy wouldn’t be getting out this way even if she could pick the lock. There wasn’t time. 

“Peggy,” he called, forgetting she wasn’t exactly responding to that name. 

“Stay away!” she shouted back. 

“I can’t.” He started moving slowly downward, one step at a time. He peered over the railing to try and find her. 

“Just let me go.” There was another echo of her pulling on another door. 

“You have nowhere else to go,” he said. He was only a floor above her now. He could see half of her because of the way the stairs spiraled. “No one here is trying to hurt you. We’re all trying to help.” 

“I don’t know that.” 

“I know how scared you must be.” 

“I’m not scared!” 

“Well, you are the bravest person I know. That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“Don’t talk like you know me!” 

He stepped down another level and saw her leaning against a door. She was hastily dressed in her own clothes and she was holding a knife. She held the blade out in front of her as a warning. 

He wasn’t surprised to see the weapon. It had certainly been tucked away in her clothing. 

"Stay back," she said. 

He slowed his approach even more but kept moving forward. 

"You're not going to hurt me," he said. 

"You don't know that. You don't know anything about me." 

"Peggy, I know everything about you." 

"I'm not her." 

That broke his heart. She didn't recognize him, but she also didn't recognize herself. How had he misunderstood her fear so completely? No, he could answer that question: she was so rarely afraid. 

He stopped just out of her reach and held his hands up a little to prove he was unarmed. 

"I know one thing. You didn't hurt that doctor," he said. 

"I did. He was bleeding." 

"Okay, you did some damage, but you threw a book at him. You have a knife and you know how to fight. You could've broken his neck." 

"I can do that?" she asked. 

He nodded. “You’re a great shot too.” 

"I don't sound very nice." 

"Don't think that. You're the most wonderful person I know. Complex, you know? You're a lot of things. You're a fighter and that’s the side most people see because you’ve had to fight for everything. You can be so gentle too. You know when each is needed. You fight when you have to. You don't take crap from anyone and stand by your convictions.”

"I don’t like that either. You make her sound like a saint, some crusading warrior." 

He shook his head and couldn't help but smile. "Absolutely not. You can be the biggest brat with a sharp tongue. You're stubborn as hell and reckless. We have those things in common. Though, you even make stubbornness work in your favor, like after you go shot.”

"I've been shot?" 

"Awhile ago, but yeah on a mission. You were negotiating a ride out of dodge for us and things fell apart. Bastards shot you twice in the back and you have two scars are on your right shoulder to prove it. You still got away and got yourself back to the safe house. It took us two days to hike to an extraction point."

She stuck her hand under the collar of her shirt as she felt for a change in the texture of her own skin. He took a step closer while she was distracted. 

"They're not big," he continued. "It was lucky it was just a .22. Still scared the hell out of me. I've never seen someone so pale before because you lost so much blood and had to rely on my medical training. I thought you were going to collapse, but you made it every step. Stubbornness saved your life that time, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when you react like this." 

She frowned at him, seemingly close to tears. She put a hand to her forehead like she was in pain. “I can’t trust anything you say.” 

“I won't let anything happen to you,” he said. “You have to believe me. We were happy. We were talking about the future, maybe even kids. We were keeping our life together a secret, but it was so right. It was just us. After all this time, just us. I love you and you love me.” 

She touched her head again. “None of this makes any sense. I don’t know.” 

She looked so unsure, but her arm started to lower. His attention was so focused on her that he saw her swallow. Anything could tip her one way or the other. He barely dared to breathe. He made no sudden movements. 

He missed her. He missed her so badly it was a physical pain. He had lost family before. Mom, Dad, Bucky were all gone. He'd lost friends. He'd lost men during the war. This was somehow worst. Peggy, his brave Peggy, wasn't lost. She was right in front of him. He would be able to touch her if she would let him. There was nothing behind her gaze. Nothing of the intelligent, wise-cracking woman he loved. She was a shell, but he was left feeling empty without her like a giant hole had been gouged out of him. He didn't know what he was without her. They'd turned him into Captain America, but Captain America wasn't anything without Agent Carter beside him. 

A door above them banged open. A score of footsteps echoed on the stairs. It sounded like boots. She flinched like the trap door had closed. The look in her eyes went feral. 

“No! Stay back!” Steve yelled up to them. 

They didn't listen and four uniformed soldiers—guns drawn—came spilling down the steps. There was no way out. She had to see that now. He almost had her. He had been so close. Before they reached the bottom step, Steve moved between them and his wife. He really wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. 

With his attention momentarily on the men, Peggy took her chance. She launched herself at Steve again, but he was readier this time. He grabbed her wrist with a fluid motion and flipped her around so her back slammed against his chest. Her arm was still outstretched, grasping the little knife like her life depended on it, but she couldn’t reach him with the blade. 

She tried to get free, yelling obscenities, yelling horrible things about him. It was fierce and frenzied and had the power of what her muscles remember from her years of training. She was going to hurt herself. Steve couldn’t let go. She fought against him, kicking wildly, but she was no match for him. Not even close. He pulled her hand back until she was forced to let the knife fall to the floor. He hated to have to do it. He hated himself for being strong enough. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, Peggy," he said. He had never used his size like this before. He had never used sheer size to dominate someone, especially not her. It made it stomach turn over. He hated it. He hated it. 

She didn’t have a lot of fight in her. Her legs gave out and they both sank to the floor. He took most of her weight. She went limp, like a rag doll in his arms. Something was wrong. No version of Peggy Carter would surrender so completely. 

“Let me go,” she said, now almost nestled in his arms. 

“I can’t," he said. “You have to trust someone. It’s the soldiers or me. I’m trying to help. I love you.” 

“My head hurts,” she said after a moment.

He looked up at the soldiers. “Get me Taylor or Harvey. Now.” One of them scrambled back up the stairs. “Helps coming.” 

She went downhill so fast. She needed help. She needed it now. 

“Can you stand?” he asked. 

She closed her eyes and her head thumped against his chest. 

“Peggy?” he said as his panic swelled. “Open your eyes. C’mon, stay awake.” 

She didn’t respond. 

“Peggy?” 

Still nothing. 

He wasn’t waiting. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back up the steps. The soldiers parted to let them pass. He took her back to her room, where Dr. Harvey and a few other doctors—even the poor man with the head wound—did their work. 

They concluded Peggy was unconscious but seemed to be in no danger. All five of the patients had been unconscious when they were brought in but came around on their own. Dr. Harvey could only guess that was what was happening now. 

This wouldn’t have been a comfort to Steve, except very quickly the other four agents complained about a headache and then slipped into unconsciousness. It was consistent. Not much solace, but at least it seemed to be a part of the whatever they had been exposed to. Taylor realized it had been almost exactly twelve hours since then. The staff were all hopeful it meant the chemical was wearing off. 

Steve agreed. It was all too much of coincidence. But he also needed Peggy to wake up. He needed her to open her eyes and called him by name. 

He stayed by her bed and hoped and dwelled.


	4. Chapter 4

She opened her eyes and her only thought was “ _Where am I?_ ” 

One glance around the room told her it was a hospital or some kind of medical facility. The antiseptic smell was enough to prove that. She’d noticed a man asleep in a chair next to her bed too. He was familiar and he cared enough to stay by her bedside. Besides, he was asleep so posed no threat. 

Why and how and who were the larger questions and she had no answers. It was disconcerting, but she was an agent she could handle herself. 

An agent? What was that? It was true; she knew that, but what it meant was harder to reach. A great deal seemed out of reach now that she thought about it. Where wasn’t the only mystery. 

It was like trying to pick a shadow out of many shadows. Like something on the tip of her tongue. All the pieces were in front of her, but she couldn’t put them in order. 

She put a hand her forehead and winced when she touched a bandage. That might explain it. A head injury might answer some of her questions. 

She pushed herself to a better sitting position against her pillows, taking an assessment of the rest of her body as she moved. She had a few scrapes on her bare arms and a general soreness, but nothing else seemed to be damaged. If she was physically fine, then it was just her head, which, bloody Nora, hurt. 

With this knowledge in hand, she turned her attention to her questions. She needed answers, but she needed to find them on her own. She could wake the man, ask him, and blindly accept anything he said. However, that wasn't how she operated. Always verify. 

She pushed the covers off her legs and, moving delicately so not to wake the man, got out the bed. She was in a hospital gown that would help her sneak around the hospital she wouldn't be able to go outside. 

She looked around the room again; her clothes had to be somewhere. There was a small overnight bag on top of a cabinet. It was hers. Speaking of verification, she didn't know how she knew that. Still, the items inside were familiar. That was her favor shade of lipstick. Her stocking. But no clothes. She did find a dressing gown that at least covered her better than the open-backed shift she was wearing. 

With that tied around her, she peered through a small window in the door. 

The grey of the light in the room indicated to her it was rather early in the morning. The hallway was mostly deserted, but there were a few nurses and doctors moving around. She would have to be confident, pick a direction and stick with it. It was amazing what people believed if one was confident. She imagined she could a read a nurse's mind, ’That patient shouldn't be out of bed, but they seem to know where they're going.’ 

The problem with this technique is she had no idea where she was going. The angle from the window offered little view. The room was on a long straight hallway with a large hallway connecting at a ninety degrees. She could see the corner of a nurses station, so straight wasn't where she wanted to go. Left or right. It was a 50/50 choice from what she could see. There was only one way to find out which was correct. 

She pulled open the door and took a few steps into the passage. She turned right and realized quickly she'd already picked the wrong way. The hall continued for a few more rooms and then stopped at a dead end. 

"Agent Carter, you shouldn't be out of bed," called someone almost at once. 

Now Peggy was trapped, but she still ignored the voice. She knew they were trying to get her attention. She was Agent Carter. Agent Peggy Carter. True if still unverified. 

She tried to turn around and tried to go the other way, but it was blocked by a nurse and two orderlies. All three were slowly moving forward. She didn’t recognize any of their faces. It was the first time she had come up against something that was truly foreign. She backed up too, moving further into the corner. 

“Ma’am, please don’t make this difficult,” said the nurse. 

Peggy noticed the other woman’s accent. “Am I in England?” Peggy asked, hoping to distract them. 

“No, I’m a transplant, like you.” 

“That’s right. I moved to New York after the war. Am I in New York?” 

“You are. If you’d just get back in bed, we can explain everything.” 

The door to her room burst open and the man spilled out into the hall to join the group. “I fell asleep,” he announced. 

Peggy stared at him. New York. The war. She placed him. Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America. He was standing in front of her alive and well. He was a ghost, a phantom. It was so right and so wrong at the same time. It was like a dream in reality. It wasn’t supposed to be possible. 

She backed into the wall. “You're alive. You came back.”

He was looked at her with his big blue eyes like he was staring into her soul. She wanted to run to him, leap into his arms, but she didn’t believe it. Her mind scrambled for any memory to help her comprehend what she was seeing. 

He moved around the nurse, coming closer. She put out a hand, asking him to stop. He obeyed. 

“Of course. I didn’t mean to leave you behind,” he said. “They found me frozen in the ice and woke me up. You don’t remember?” 

She shook her head. “I’m trying. I can tell there’s something missing.” 

“But you know me?” 

She nodded. 

He started forward again and she didn’t stop him. He walked slowly as if to give her time to change her mind. Her arm was still out in front of her and he took her hand. He was solid and warm and alive. She collapsed against him as he gathered her in a tight hug. She tucked in perfectly beneath his chin. Her cheek rested on his broad chest. She closed her eyes, feeling safe in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling. 

“How is that possible?" she said. 

"It's complicated, but it has to do with the serum." 

“That bloody serum.” She paused. "What happened to me?" 

"There was an explosion and some chemical was released. It caused memory loss. But you’re doing so much better. You didn’t know your own name yesterday." 

“Margaret Carter, daughter of Harrison and Amanda Carter,” she recited. “Formerly of the British Army, now an S.S.R. agent. Born April ninth, married September—” She stopped herself and pushed back a little from his embrace. "Married?"

His eyes were shining, but there was a small smile on his lips. She wanted the answer to be yes. She wanted to be married to him. The words had come tumbling out of her mouth. She hadn’t been thinking about it. She was realizing that the memories were there if she didn’t try to get at them. If she had said it, it was true. She was looking up at him, hoping. 

“Yeah, we got married,” he said. “Nothing fancy. Just city hall almost six months ago. I’ve been back a year."

She closed her eye in order to focus. Not on the wedding, but on a lazy Sunday. She thought about the two of them lounging in bed or reading on a couch. She could picture it as she had pictured it thousand times, but they weren’t memories. On edge that comfortable, intimate feeling, she remembered something else. 

Their engagement. Keeping it all a secret until it became a game. Planning in code. Making up excuses to get their closest friends and family to city hall. Most of the guests were even surprised. Stark was stocked; Jarvis gave them a knowing smile. Angie—the only one who knew the truth—helping Peggy get ready in a simple white dress. Standing front of the judge and saying two little words that changed everything and nothing. Dancing for the first time as husband and wife in a private room in a restaurant. 

She sighed. "I remember the dress. And we danced afterward." 

He smiled broadened. "We dance a lot. This is really good. You’re doing so much better. Say it again: what’s your name?”

“Peggy Carter.” 

He laughed and she caught the feeling. He took her hand again and moved as if he was going to kiss it. Instead, she brought her lips to meet his. 

It seemed as if she relived every kiss they had ever had. Their last kiss before the plane disappeared. Their first kiss in a dance hall in DC after he came back. The kiss at their wedding where he dipped her and the little crowd cheered. Kisses they made love in their bed. The little good morning kisses and see you later kisses and welcome home kisses. 

“That I remember,” she said when he finally pulled back. 

****

Steve offered a hand to help Peggy out of the cab. 

“Rogers, I swear if you don’t stop fussing...” She didn’t need to finish the thought. 

He withdrew the offer. “Sorry!” 

She climbed out of the car without assistance. Home again. It hadn’t even been a couple of days since she was last here, but it felt like years. She just wanted to pick up exactly where they had left off. She wanted to climb back in bed and forget about everything that had happened. 

“ _Poor choice of words,_ ” she thought. 

“You can get the bag if you have to help,” she said. 

He reached back into the car to grabbed her go bag. While he was distracted, she made her way to the front door. He was probably going to offer to carry her up the steps. She hadn’t even let him do that after their wedding. 

“Take it easy,” he still called after her. 

She smiled to herself, but also shook her head as she unlocked the door. There was a good chance every minute of her medical leave was going to be like this. She was going to have to find some way of occupying him for the week. 

Inside, everything looked the same as she remembered. Even with her memories back, the side effects were strange. Her thoughts had a shiny quality to them, like constant déjà vu. She kept testing her memories and nothing had been wrong so far. She had gone through her history with Steve over and over again and nothing seemed to be missing. There could be some missing secret she hadn't told anyone, but she was fairly confident that wasn't true. 

She remembered how she'd got the scar on her leg and no one knew about that. It was from falling while scaling a fence to see a boy when she was thirteen, not from getting clipped by a bicycle as she had told everyone. She had been so embarrassed she hadn't even told the boy. That was somehow proof there was nothing else missing. 

The twelve-hour period, while she was under the influence of the chemical, was the only thing she couldn't access. It was blank in between the explosion and waking yesterday with Steve asleep in the chair beside her. 

He caught up and dropped the bag on the table. 

“So, what’d you find out?” she said, asking the question she had not wanted to say in front of the driver. 

“About what?” 

“I saw you talking to Sousa while I was getting discharged. What did I get dosed with?” She sounded more casual than she felt. 

“Stark figured it out. It’s known as Forget Me Not. Basically, gas your enemies so they forget everything, round them up, wait twelve hours, and then you can interrogate them. It’s not one of his inventions but he had studied it when working on something he calls Midnight Oil.”

“I know what that is. Someone tried to use it on the entire city.” 

“Right. Well, Forget Me Not has never been used, as far as anyone can tell, because it’s too volatile for the field and the resulting personalities are unpredictable. It’s supposed to have a pacifying element that doesn’t seem to work."

“I see.” 

He didn’t have anything else to offer. 

“You need anything? Hungry?” he asked. 

“I want a shower. I smell like a hospital.” 

She started for their bedroom to get changed. When she entered, the bed was too much temptation. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed on top of the covers. 

After few minutes, she heard him coming. She looked over her shoulder to she could see him standing in the doorway and reached out a hand. He took the invitation. He engulfed her in his arms just as they had slept a few nights before. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Darling, I’m just tired. Stay here until I’m asleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

****

There was a crash somewhere and Peggy woke with a violent start. She was sitting up and pulling her back up gun out of the nightstand in as much time as it took for her to open her eyes. Her heart raced; she breathed hard. 

“Where am I?” 

"Hey," said a voice from behind her. “It’s okay.”

She relaxed a little. It was Steve's voice. She didn't put down the gun, though. He was behind her; he had her back. The room was filled with fading evening light. And she didn’t recognize it. 

"Where am I?" she asked. 

"In our bedroom.”

She looked around again. That was right. Now she recognized it. They hadn't lived here that long so it was an easy mistake to make.

"You can put the gun down," he said. 

His outstretched hand appeared at her elbow from his side of the bed. She gave it to him without looking at him. She heard him taking out the clip of bullets. 

"Sorry," she said. 

"No harm done.”

“What was that?” 

“Not sure. It sounded like a garbage can getting knocked over. Do you want me to check?" 

She shook her head. 

She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her feet planted firmly on the floor. Her hands gripping the comforter on either side of her. She needed to ground herself. Everything felt too fragile as if it could all shatter if she moved too quickly. She slowed her breathing. 

"Peggy?" he said. 

"Hmm?" 

"You're safe." 

She turned to look at him. He was settling back against the headboard with his legs outstretched on the mattress with a pile of their photos on his lap. The room was steadily getting darker and he hadn't even turned on a light. He wouldn't have wanted to leave her. 

"Why do you say that?" she asked. 

"Besides the fact it's true?" 

She scooted closer to him and slipped under his arm so she was leaned against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him. He kissed the top her head. He was still solid at least. She pulled the album close and was relieved to find she knew every single one of the faces.

"Yes, besides that," Peggy said. 

He kept his attention on the photos and tried to sound casual. "You had some, um, trust issues." 

She didn't answer him right away. She could easily convince herself it was made up. She only had that rough outline of what had happened in her fugue state. She had been uncooperative and had tried to escape, which certainly sounded like how she would react if she found herself in an enemy hospital. She hadn't asked for more and Steve hadn't volunteered anything more. She didn't want to know. 

“You mean when I tried to escape?” she said.

“Yes, you thought you were being held captive, but also…” He trailed off. “Do you want to know this?” 

She sighed heavily. They would have to talk about it at some point, but he was letting her decide. She pushed back so she could see his face. 

"I want to know," she said. "Tell me what happened." 

He set down the pile. “You drugged me for one.” 

She pushed herself up so she could see his face. She crossed her legs beneath her with one knee rested on top of his thigh. 

“I did what?” 

“Jabbed a big needle in my arm to facilitate your escape.”

“Christ, I’m sorry, darling.” 

“Ah, I was only out of a few minutes.” 

“Did I do anything else?” 

“You threw a textbook at a doctor. He got a couple stitches I think.” 

“Dear Lord.” 

“You could’ve done a lot worse.” 

“I know I could have. What a mess.”

“You were doing whatever you could to try to get out of there. Just wanted to run.” 

“I wonder where I was trying to go.”

“I think you just wanted out. I asked and you said it was a secret.” 

“If I didn’t know where I was or who I was, what safe house would I have been trying to get to?” 

He shrugged in answer to her question and then asked, “Where would you go now?” 

“Wherever you are.” 

He smiled but rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

She batted his arm. “Don’t make a face at me. I’m being serious.” 

“You’re trying to butter me up.” 

“I am not. It's the truth. Just now, I felt better knowing it was you who had my back.”

“Really?” 

She frowned at the way he said the word; there was a deeper emotion in it, but she was missing the significance. “Of course. You’re my partner in every sense of the word.” 

He looked down at the pictures of their life, rubbing the back of his neck. "You said some pretty rough stuff." 

"My language is not always ladylike." She tried to smile, but she knew he didn’t mean she swore. 

"That's not what I mean. You told me you didn't want a husband. You seemed—I don’t know—disgusted by our life.” 

"Oh,” she said, her heart sinking. 

"I can't help thinking about how you got here. What you might have wanted. If things had turned out differently."

“How could you think I didn't want this? I'm happy. I have everything I want. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I know for sure I was never interested in being just a wife. My parents wanted me to marry when I was eighteen. It was a good match, all the usual. That was the worst row we ever had. I enlisted out of spite because of it. I wanted to do something else first, something big. But this, here with you, it feels just as big as everything I've ever done with the S.S.R."

He nodded. 

“You believe me, don’t you?” 

“Of course. It’s just hard to forget.”

She pushed his chin up so he had to look at her. “I love you and I love my life. Do you hear me, Rogers? Even the heartache lead here. This isn’t necessarily where I thought my life would end up, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Would you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and leaned backward, taking him with her. He let her keep pulling until he was on all fours and she was on her back with his arms on either side of her shoulders. He leaned down to kissed her. 

“Not a single thing?” she asked just as his lips brush against hers. 

“More days off,” he said and got his kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm so stuck in this universe where Peggy and Steve get their happy endings, I have another idea for a third fic in this universe. Keep an eye out if you're interested. However with NaNoWriMo starting in a few days, it'll be a while. Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! The next parts are coming along very soon!


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